[EK and BÖK sit in the doorway of their broken-down fridge thrown in a building site in a city. The site looks like it has been left on its own for a long time and garbage from the neighbourhood has built up. EK is massaging his left hand.]

BÖK: ”Anything wrong with the hand?”

EK: ”It’s sore. Like I’ve been in a fight.”

BÖK: ”Well, have you?”

EK: ”Me? No, I just woke up and it was like that.”

BÖK: ”Sure you weren’t in a fight?”

EK: ”I have never been in a fight. Not as a grown man. You know me, I wouldn’t pick a fight with anyone.”

BÖK: ”Perhaps someone picked a fight with you?”

EK: ”No, not that I recall, and knowing me I’d probably just run away.”

BÖK: ”Did you dream anything?”

EK: ”Yes, but it wasn’t about me fighting. I was a world-famous tenor singing at La Scala.”